Navigating My Culture and Sexual Identity
By Carolyn Cage, Journalist, Researcher and Writer
Chinese New Year has always been one of my favourite times of year. It reminds me of staying up late as a child - making spring rolls and dumplings with my mum, my heart pounding to the beat of the drums at the lion dance, and of course collecting hóng bāo (red envelopes with money) from relatives and family friends.
Me, flag dancing during the lion dance ceremony at Chinese New Year, 1998
But what it meant to me growing up, is much different to what it means to me now. Chinese New Year is now a day where I celebrate acceptance - and the blend of my cultural heritage and sexual identity.
Growing up those two identities were always kept separate, however. Not because I wanted them to be, but because I understood that being someone of Chinese heritage and a queer person meant they were two worlds unlikely ever to collide.
I was raised with traditional Chinese values, and a mum dedicated to playing matchmaker with her friend’s sons. It was instilled in me that I was to find a good male Chinese doctor to marry, which echoed the enthusiasm from extended family to find an appropriate husband, one who could take care of me.
“I’m just focusing on study at the moment,” I’d use as an excuse, and later in life “I’m now focusing on my career”. I knew those half-truths would buy me time, but eventually the clock would wind down and I’d be forced to choose between the worlds that made up who I was.
I always felt immense love from my family don’t get me wrong, but along with that was the pressure to live up to expectations whether it be in regards to school, career or my personal life. There was also a considerable amount of emphasis on traditional family values, gender roles and duty, and anything outside of that was considered rebellion.
Me, my parents and sister in Chinatown during the lion dance ceremony at Chinese New Year, 1992
Those values made me insubordinate, when all I wanted to do was assimilate like everyone else. I dropped out of Chinese school as soon as I could, moved out of home while I was still a teenager, and didn’t go to university until much later in life. All of that made me feel like a failure, but I knew the biggest disappointment of all was my sexuality.
I’d be told I was being “influenced by western society” and because of my inability to conform to the standards expected of me, a part of me always felt like I was disrespecting my culture - when that was never my intention. Nevertheless, it led to intense feelings of shame, guilt and internalised homophobia.
Those feelings seeped into other areas of my life, where I’d never openly tell people I was attracted to the same sex, or correct them if they’d assume my partner was a male. I’d lie if I had to, and hate myself afterwards, feeling the impact of what happens when you don’t live your life as your authentic self.
Friends would often be dazed when they’d discover how private I was about my sexuality, and confused at how I’d embrace my queerness on weekends and at parties, but be closeted at work even though I had been there for a number of years.
To support the furtiveness was having white passing privilege and being someone who, with a comb through my hair and a touch of mascara, could easily pass as straight. It made it easy to adapt to what was expected of me, and the preconceptions of who others thought I was.
As I got into a serious relationship however, I felt great sadness that my partner would never be welcomed into big part of my life, and as I grew older that sadness grew when I realised my family would also miss out - on getting to know the person I love, being part of my wedding or my future children’s lives.
It made me realise how much I had to lose, and encouraged me to be more vocal about how I felt. But after a number of unpleasant conversations, conflicts and at times crying myself to sleep at night, I resigned myself to the fact that one day I’d start my own family - and maybe that’d be enough.
I slowly started to disconnect from family, culture, and the values I always struggled to uphold, until one Chinese New Year when I received a text from my mum that read “are you coming home for CNY?”. I looked at my phone and slid it back in my pocket, until moments later I received another text that read “you can bring your partner too”.
I’ll never be able to put into words the extent of emotions I felt in that exact moment. Nor will I ever be able to describe what dinner was like that Chinese New Year - as I held my partners hand under the table while continuously sipping on my drink to swallow back tears of happiness as my mum asked the waiter to take a “family photo”.
What I can put into words however, is how I felt as my mum handed me a hóng bāo, before reaching into her handbag to hand one to my partner. It was the feeling of acceptance; something I’d always longed for, but forever felt was unachievable - and the two worlds that I thought would always be kept separate, colliding in the most harmonious way.
Join myGwork to mark the Chinese New Year with our upcoming panel, Asian & LGBTQ+: Lived Experiences on Tuesday 1st February 2022 at 4pm GMT. Sign up now.
